


Dealing with the zombie in the room.

by ProfessionalCatFan (idemandahug)



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood, Comedy, Elevators, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Injury, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 02:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12447765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idemandahug/pseuds/ProfessionalCatFan
Summary: There's a zombie in Komaeda's kitchen.





	Dealing with the zombie in the room.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this today and I don't know why. I'm very tired.

Komaeda sits at the table with a plate of toast, and then notices the zombie in his kitchen. Shambling forward, hunched over, the dead woman watches him behind matted hair. As she reaches a slow arm towards him, Komaeda picks up his cell phone and dials the emergency number.

“Ah, hello, it’s me again. …No, it’s not another fire. …See, there’s a zombie in my apartment. …Yes, a zombie. …Sure, I’ll hold.”

As cheery music plays from his phone, Komaeda realises the zombie has shuffled a little too close for comfort. He stands and grabs a nearby broom. Prodding it away can’t be very effective, but it’s the only thing he can think of.

“Hello?” Komaeda says into the phone, keeping the zombie at a broom’s length. “Ah, questions? …Yes, I’m certain it’s a zombie. …No, this isn’t a prank. …Yes, it’s noticed me. …20 minutes? …Okay, I’ll try to hold on until then.”

With that, Komaeda makes his way around the zombie, holding the broom up as he moves. The woman’s glazed over eyes continue to stare. Though her movements are stiff, Komaeda doesn’t doubt she could kill him quite easily. The evidence for this is his front door, which is now in two splintered pieces on the floor. At least he doesn’t need to fumble with the lock to escape—that’s lucky.

The hallway is empty. Komaeda runs towards the stairs, wielding the broom like a weapon. He only stops to pull the zombie warning alarm, or as many people know it, the fire alarm. He has to do something to warn people, even if it’s only to stop the zombie from causing more property damage.

The alarm blares, but there is little reaction. Perhaps most people are working at this time of day, with the rest simply not caring. A door opens to Komaeda’s right, and he recognises his neighbour, Akane Owari, standing in the doorway.

“Hey, what’s with all the noise?” she grumbles, rubbing her eyes.

“Sorry, Owari-san. There’s a zombie, so…” Komaeda gestures to the dead woman stumbling towards him.

“Oh. D’you need any help?”

“No, I can handle it.”

“Okay. Cool.” Owari closes the door, and Komaeda keeps running.

He stops and calls the elevator. Thankfully, it’s faster than the shuffling zombie, and when the doors slid open Komaeda rushes inside—and nearly crashes into someone. A man, dressed in a scruffy suit, a bandage circled around his head and messing his prickly hair. His appearance is so odd that at first Komaeda thinks he’s another zombie, and he raises his broom. The man takes a step back in alarm, a very unzombie-ish reaction. Komaeda breathes a laugh.

“Ah, I’m sorry. I thought you were dead.”

“Wh-what?”

Komaeda ignores his question and steps inside to press the button for the ground floor. The man stares at him as the elevator rattles downwards.

“Hm? Is something wrong?”

“Aside from you nearly attacking me with a broom? Nothing, I guess. Oh, but…” His expression shifts into one of confusion; he suddenly reminds Komaeda of a lost child, even though they must be the same age. “Could you… tell me where I am? I can’t seem to remember…”

“You don’t know? This is the Enoshima apartment complex.” Komaeda looks at him. “Did you hit your head? Is that why you have those bandages?”

“I-I guess.”

“In that case, I wonder if your memories are a little muddled… Do you remember your name, at least?”

He nods, firmly. “Yeah. I’m Hajime Hinata.”

“Nice to meet you, Hinata-kun. I’m—”

The elevator stops, doors opening. Komaeda’s guard is down. His only warning is a rush of movement out the corner of his eye, and Hinata yelling, “What the hell is that?!” before the zombie’s broken teeth rip into his shoulder.

Yelping, gasping, Komaeda manages to strike the zombie with the broom. It staggers back, and Komaeda falls to his knees, trembling as he clutches the wound. How careless. He didn’t think there would be more than one zombie in the building.

He looks up. Even through pained tears, he can see about 3 zombies: 2 men and a woman. Blood drips from the mouth of the one who bit him.

How strange. How have this many zombies made it into the apartment building?

“Zombies…?” Hinata says in a stunned voice. “Real… zombies?”

The zombie’s blood smeared mouth snaps at empty air. It lurches forward; Komaeda braces himself.

But Hinata jumps in front of him, hand outstretched as if to shove the zombie back. Instead, the zombie’s mouth closes around his hand. Hinata yells and punches it. This time, the zombie falls. Ignoring the throbbing pain, Komaeda reaches up to the buttons and closes the elevator doors.

The zombies hits the door, but nothing happens. They’re safe for now, it seems.

At this point, Hinata gives up on standing and slides down the wall. Blood seeps from his hand.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Hinata looks close to throwing up. “Those were zombies. What the hell. Zombies.”

Komaeda begins to inspect his shirt. It’s one of his favourites, so he hopes he can wash the blood out.

“It bit me,” Hinata continues, voice shaking. “It bit you, too. Are we going to die? Or turn into zombies? Or both?!”

“Don’t be silly,” Komaeda says. The wound is horribly painful, but he keeps talking regardless. He’s had worse. “We won’t die from one bite.”

“Why the hell are you so calm?! Those were zombies!”

“My, you must have hit your head really hard,” Komaeda says, sympathetic. “It’s not really a big deal. Zombie attacks are fairly frequent. They have medicine at the hospital, so even if you’re infected right now you’ll be fine.”

“There’s… medicine? For zombie bites?”

“Of course! I’m surprised you could forget. It’s very effective, you know. Just last year, I—”

Then, there’s a knock on the elevator door. A polite knock, instead of the lumbering bangs of the zombies.

“Um, hello?” comes a muffled voice. “Is someone in there…?”

“Oh, that’s Tsumiki-san!” Komaeda says with a smile. “She’s a nurse,” he answers Hinata’s questioning gaze, “And very good at treating zombie bites. You should definitely talk to her if you’re worried. Tsumiki-san, hello!”

When Tsumiki opens the elevator doors, she’s shocked by their bloodied states and immediately leads them outside to a waiting ambulance. The police are currently luring the zombies away, she explains, so that they can be taken to a secure hospital and hopefully treated. Komaeda nods in response, but Hinata can only stare.

“A hospital… for zombies…?” Hinata mumbles.

“Oh, y-yes, of course,” Tsumiki stammers. “I know some people look down on treating zombies, but the success rate is increasing every day. Many can even return to their families after just a few months of treatment. Oh! But don’t worry, please! You were only bitten a short time ago, so you’ll just need some medication.”

“I… I see.”

“Actually, Tsumiki-san,” Komaeda cuts in, “Hinata-kun here has been struggling with his memory. I think someone should look at him properly.”

As Tsumiki panics, Hinata frowns, as if he doesn’t think it’s worth looking into. But for Komaeda, it’s the opposite. The fact Hinata doesn’t remember such everyday facts is worrying and, well, suspicious. It’s as if he never knew them in the first place.

Whether it will lead to good luck or bad luck, he met a strange person like Hinata today. That must be significant, somehow.

It seems Komaeda will have to keep an eye on Hajime Hinata.


End file.
